


Wraith

by Evelyn_fireheart



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Civil War Team Iron Man, Fluff, Gen, Irondad, Light Angst, kind of depressing but mainly fluff, spiderson
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-25
Updated: 2019-07-07
Packaged: 2019-10-01 11:28:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,853
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17243423
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Evelyn_fireheart/pseuds/Evelyn_fireheart
Summary: Black Widow was known for her sharp intelligence and vicious fighting- not for idiotic choices.Yet she returns to the compound after a mission with an assassin in tow. One who, according to Natasha, hasn’t exactly quit.Loki is used to assassins, warriors, men of iron and people bedecked in star-spangled lycra so she shouldn’t appear unusual.But she does.There is something off about her...Something serpentine in the way she infiltrated the Avengers, something sinister in the way she spoke.He isn’t used to not knowing something, and he doesn’t like the knowing smirks she sends him.





	1. the Motherland

 Silence clanged through the room. It was deafening. World ending. Vrai bared her teeth, crazed rage writhing in her eyes. She didn’t bother trying to escape her chains again.

They had been made for people like her, prepared for the skill set she had spent her childhood furthering. Shadows danced in the empty corners between the tools, and she focused her eyes on them as she tried to think. They swung side to side, dancing to music she couldn’t hear anymore. 

Vrai swayed with them, and a low chuckle clawed out her mouth. She had been too cocky, too sure in her victory. Now she was paying the price. 

At least the others would not pay alongside her.

Moonlight filtered through the bulletproof skylight high above and she pressed her eyes closed against it. Reminders of her dwindling time would do her no good.

Morning was coming fast, racing over the hillside in the far distance and bringing with it the promise of her death.

She had earned it. She had earned it.

Blood curdled in her mouth and Vrai spat it out into the stone flood far below her. She watched, entranced, as it splashed against the manacles circling her ankles.

God, her arms hurt. The tendons in her shoulders were aching with the strain of holding her weight for hours on end, and she could feel them beginning to fray.

Her master had taught her how to endure pain, so she did not cry or scream. But she laughed. Loud maniacal laughter that did not belong on the grounds of a church -or beneath one at least. 

Time was running faster now, but she was close. Perhaps she would be lucky enough to die before he returned. 

Crashing sounded from behind the metal door, and Vrai shut her eyes again. Life had never gifted her luck before, so she supposed she shouldn’t be surprised.

But it would have been nice.

When the door slammed open and banged against the wall, she did not open her eyes. Nor did she when a muffled gasp echoed through the room. It didn’t sound like the man who had strung her up on the barren wall like bloodred Christmas lights. 

“Oh god-“ Vrai peeled open her eyes at the feminine, _familiar_ voice.

She had to squint through the new blinding light illuminating the dungeon but eventually she made out a red-haired female suited in pure black, with indiscernible weapons strapped to her body in silver-lined silhouettes.

Wait- _no_

If she was here then she was either with her new team or alone again. Vrai couldn’t decide which was worse. 

“Vrai, what happened to you?” the voice was soft, soothing, and laced with honey-scented danger. Most importantly though, it was in the cage of an Englishman. The reminder sent a venomous chill snaking along her bones.  _She is a defector; a traitor to the Motherland. And now she is also your target._ She leant her head against the wall and forced herself to scoff. 

“What happened is I got caught Паук,” she said, voice croaky from dehydration and lack of use, “I failed in my mission.” 

The woman grunted, and Vrai could almost feel the eye roll she performed. She heard the swish of a heavy blade and then Vrai was thudding to the ground, eyes flying wide in surprise. Muscle memory curled her body forward in preparation for impact, but she had miscalculated. The chains tying her wrists had been snapped- but not her feet. 

Which meant Vrai instead forced her entire body weight onto her shoulders in a blunt impact that sent pain shooting through her back. 

Groaning loudly, Vrai rolled into her back and stretched her body out like a cat in the sun. “Why hello, _Романова_.”

“Hey, asshole,” Natalia Romanova -no, new alias- _Natasha Romanoff_ said as she smirked down at her, red strands falling across her smug expression. Vrai groaned again and pulled herself to her feet, ignoring how every bone in her body cracked. 

“Nice of you to-“ She bent over and coughed into her hand. "-drop in?" Wiping her hand on her jeans, she looked up and gave her old friend a bloody smile.

Suprisingly, Natasha only shook her head in return. Vrai pursued her lips and raised a brow. “What happened to you Наталия ?” 

She put out a hand and Natasha dropped the axe into it. It was heavy and made her arms ache even more, but Vrai wrapped her fingers around the handle regardless, relishing the violence it promised. Oh, how she had missed the feeling of a weapon in her hands. 

She hoisted it up with a stifled grunt and rolled her shoulders to loosen her muscles.

“To freedom,” she says with a wicked smile, and brings the axe down.

 

* * *

 

_"The Motherland does not wait for us," she said with teeth coated in blood, "Mother is part of all of us, a companion in our very bones. She keeps moving and, through us, keeps thriving."_

_All the young girl really heard though, was a warning._


	2. when the blood settles

Vrai lets the axe fall from her grip as soon as the chain breaks. A glance to her side shows Natasha standing openly; with a gun resting in her open palm. 

Oh thank fuck. Reaching out a scarred hand, she takes it without hesitation and cocks it with practised ease. Many nights had passed since she had seen the sky, and many more since she had held a gun in her hand. Some missions required other instruments of death, with enemies that deserved a slower, more torturous end than the mercy of a bullet. So she had stashed away her guns and equipped every lining of her body with blades. It had lead to her -albeit temporary- downfall.

Now she wanted vengeance. For all the people she had failed to kill, and all the families murdering those terrorists would have saved. Therefore, despite the undesirable situation her body was in, she was ready to wage war. She always would be. As was her duty and her honour.

Cold, musty air rushed through the open dungeon door, bringing with it the shouts of guards racing to stop their escape. Vrai looked to Natasha questioningly. "I only knocked them out and tied them up," she said. A barely visible wince ripples up through her body language, Vrai's identical training the only reason her eyes were able to pinpoint it.

"That's it?" Vrai asked incredulously, "Why didn't you kill them?"

"I'm trying to wipe out the red, remember?" Vrai rolled her eyes. "S.H.I.E.L.D limits what I can get away with now, its just how it is."

"Don't be stupid, Паук," she beckoned for another gun with her index finger and Natasha gave her one reluctantly, shooting her a hard look. "The blood on our hands will never wash away, you just have to learn to live with it." The footsteps got louder and an aging man appeared at the door, machine gun in hand. 

"Oi! The wretch is out of her chains!" said the guard confidently. But his hands were shaking and he did not pull the trigger; too unsure in himself and his ability. Vrai smirked and lifted her hand. Her arm relaxed into a straight line and she refused to let her grip shake as she pulled the trigger, and shot him in the center of his head. 

The bang of the gun echoed around the cavernous dungeon, and so did the crash of his body against the small metal table behind him. Her tongue darted out to wipe away the droplet of blood that landed on her lip, a languid finger rising to smudge the blood cushioned in her eyelashes into her cheeks. Freckled with red and grinning in relief, she likely looked insane. Maybe she was. Vrai looked to Natasha and cocked her head. "The clock is ticking, shall we?"

Victorious joy danced when her old friend couldn't hide her smile, and mingled with the sweet taste of revenge as they stepped over the body together.

 _A toast,_ she thought as the corners of her lips lifted into a wicked grin, _to old friends who come sniffing when you leave breadcrumbs, and Masters who demand well-matched opponents._

 

* * *

 

  _"I understand, воин, that it's difficult to leave the mission behind." His touch was gentle as he squeezed her shoulder, leaning down in a way not dissimilar to that of a lion, crouching in the grass. His face was centimetres from hers, and with every push of his lungs fear was struck into her-before it was snuffed out. Warriors and assassins, soldiers and spies and heroes of the Motherland, they don't feel such human things as fear. Neither will she, for immortality was her gift and her price, and she has a great destiny._

 _"You want to know the secret of living when there is no body to bury,_ _no game to play?" She was young, and naïve, and so she spoke instead of simply remaining silent._

 _"Yes, sir._ "

 _Despite her youth, her natural skill in reading enemies picked up on the slight tighten_ _ing of his mouth, the tensing of his hand on her. It was still gentle, but there was anger in it too. A soft, kind anger that worshipped and soothed, and sacrificed whoever had caused it to the gods. She had disobeyed him, then. Though the twitch in the corner of his eye disagreed with that._

 _It was much worse. She had insulted him. No amount of kind words spoke to herself in the depths of her mind would disguise her terror as survival, and she struggled to keep in her desperate apology. The silent ones are the strongest, is what her tutors would preach. That was why the Ghost_ _was revered as a God._

 _Fingernails dug into her shoulder, and she pushed sown her emotions until she was once again a blank slate. "Make yourself stronger, faster, better. Never stop pushing yourself to greatness, as is the way of our homeland. Forge yourself into a weapon wielded in times of hopelessness, into a last beacon of prosperity for our nation. You are already a predator, young one, now it is time for you to become_ _a Viper worthy_ _of putting a Widow to shame."_

 _She was not breathless-but it was close. That feeling-fear- was rising, screaming of threats and war and steel reduced to ash, but was silenced in favour of her instinctual knowledge that **this, this is what survival tastes like. This is what I wish to become.** An invitation like that is rare, offered only to the most skilled who might help Russia the most. She was privileged. She was _honoured _._

_The removal of the sharp pain from her shoulder seemed like permission, so she said, "I thank you, Master, I will endevor to prove your faith in me true."_

_He regarded her with a sharp eye. "I know you will. Just remember истины, when the blood settles, the sharks come home."_

_A threat and a promise and a war long waged. She simply nodded, and hoped it would be enough._


End file.
